


bubo virginianus

by precipitation



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-04-04 05:42:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14013414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/precipitation/pseuds/precipitation
Summary: “Have you had sex before, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi said.“I’ve played volleyball,” Bokuto said defensively.





	bubo virginianus

Akaashi’s possible answers: A. Nothing, he was doing absolutely nothing. B. Finishing up with his bath, please shut the door, Bokuto-san. C. Look, was there a volleyball outside, go look. Of course, there was always option D, because there was always option D. That was the wildcard, but playing the wildcard against the person who embodied a living wildcard was always a stupid move. But he was still tempted.

He wasn’t a show-off like Bokuto. Wasn’t it Bokuto, after all, who urged him to play in the neighbourhood park, and wasn’t it because Bokuto was fooling around that Akaashi got covered in mud. Since Akaashi lived alone, he agreed, with great reluctance, that Bokuto could play in the backyard while Akaashi took a quick rinse. He was used to leaving the wooden door parted, a thoughtless act. It was just—the peek of skin above Bokuto’s kneepads, the way his muscles pulled his shirt so taut, the outlines of his biceps, and Akaashi found his hand wandering down below and tugging between his legs, and he couldn’t recall when Bokuto first arrived at the bathroom door. 

The steam might account for the red in his ears, but the green water had surprising clarity. His bare chest was visible even below the waterline, as was his hand firmly gripped around his erect cock. Bokuto blinked, slow and calm, and Akaashi found himself stupidly, irresistibly, drawn to option D.

“I’m masturbating, Bokuto-san,” he said. 

“Oh.” Bokuto shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Can we play more volleyball when you’re done?” Though Akaashi could never claim to understand Bokuto, a stray thought flew across his mind. A frivolous, excessive thought, but he’d already started down this road and his mouth opened.

“Do you know what it means to masturbate?” Through the blurry water, the head of his cock peeked through the loose curl of his hand. “Have you masturbated before?” 

“Hey,” Bokuto said, indignant. But, transparent as always, several emotions clashed over Bokuto’s face. He scowled, then shrugged, then opened his mouth, closed it again, scratched the back of his neck. 

Akaashi felt too warm, but he kept his face cool. 

“I’m surprised,” he said levelly. “This seems like something you might enjoy. It can help to relieve stress or pent-up energy.” Low, even for him, to dangle the carrot of sports in front of Bokuto, but Bokuto’s golden eyes lighted with another spark. Akaashi took advantage of the interest, hoisting himself up against the edge of his bathtub. The sudden cold air against his damp stomach and bare thighs made him shiver. Without looking, he could feel his nipples harden, tight against him. He felt vulnerable, enlivened by Bokuto’s curious glance. 

“If you had energy, you should have set for me more.” Bokuto sat on the plastic stool. The scrape of the rubber ends echoed in the tiled room. 

“I set for you during practice already.” Akaashi did not understand Bokuto, could not understand him, but sometimes Bokuto’s statements settled upon him with an odd, practical sense. How Bokuto liked to play in the main arena, with more spectators and louder audience cheers, felt like a necessary quirk. Now that Akaashi was staging this show, he could understand a bit deeper. With Bokuto’s hungry eyes devouring him, a deep calm yet a heavy lust rolled from his core. The thrusts felt more sensitive over his slick cock, he struggled harder to clamp his teeth over his lips, he performed while he pretended not to perform.

“That looks pretty nice, Akaashi.” Bokuto leaned forward, elbows over his knees. “You feel good?” A new gravel undertone entered Bokuto’s voice, a raspy interest. His new pose hid his crotch in the shadows, but Akaashi thought he could see taut lines from Bokuto’s shorts. 

“Yes. This feels good.” Their positions on the volleyball court rotated with a steady pulse. Akaashi, the setter, would have to account for the opponent’s position, their team’s position, the touches on the ball, the width of his steps. But those moments when Bokuto’s eyes focused on him, expectant for the set, stood out amidst the rush. Bokuto wasn’t looking at the crowd, his teammates, the coach. He was looking at Akaashi, full attention with his knuckles paling against his knees. 

Akaashi was used to the calluses on his hands and the warmth of his grip. The pumping was familiar, as were his hitches of breath. But how he must look in Bokuto’s wide eyes, the intense stare still only a fraction of the power hiding beneath Bokuto’s skulked form. The droplets of water from his hair rolled down his neck. His lips must be red and he couldn’t muffle his small cries. He wondered if Bokuto derived any pleasure from watching a setter’s fingers clutch and thrust against his hard cock, a string of something opaque slipping between the nestles of his hands. His arousal must be apparent from the tightness of his stomach, the veins on his cock, and the way he’d shifted his legs open. An amateur show of his heavy balls against the porcelain tub. His skin glistening and slick from the water, how lewd he must look, wanton and carnal, but he would bare everything except the way he needed Bokuto to look at him, and he came with a startled cry onto his own chest. 

“Wow. That’s a lot.” Bokuto tilted his head. Akaashi, heaving with stunted breaths, watched the evidence drip down to his hips. His load had been heavier than usual, and the culprit was in front of him. The orgasmic bliss hadn’t left his arms, but his mind darted to possibilities. Laugh it off, or ignore him, or condescend. Hide, or convince, or argue. But Bokuto, like always, swept away the cobwebs and showed him a better path.

“Hey, show me. Do that for me too.” Bokuto’s sincere demand resonated in the bathroom. Akaashi pretended to consider this, a show of flickering his eyes to the corner of the room, licking his lips.

“All right,” he said. “It’d be more comfortable in my bedroom.” 

He didn’t dare look up, even as Bokuto’s footsteps faded down the hallway. He shouldn’t hope so hard. He needed to keep the delicate balance in place. His traitorous heart beat loud in his ears while he dried his hair with a towel. No lights had been flicked on from his hallway, which meant he navigated the cold wooden boards in darkness and quiet. The bedroom flooded with warmer lamplight. In the cold, he tied the towel around his waist, and pushed open his door. He kept his mouth a steady line.

Bokuto had taken off his shirt and sat on the bed. He had gotten distracted from the volleyball notes on Akaashi’s clipboard, strategic lines drawn for the previous plays. Bokuto swivelled his head around and grinned. 

“Hey,” Bokuto greeted. 

“Have you had sex before, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi greeted. He pushed Bokuto down on his bed, thankful he’d aired out his sheets the day before, not that he expected Bokuto to inhale the fresh sun scent, his palms were too sweaty, he was touching Bokuto’s hard shoulder, his thoughts running out of control.

“I’ve played volleyball,” Bokuto said defensively. This time, it was Akaashi who blinked at him. 

“I’ll show you a bit more,” Akaashi said. 

“More volleyball?” 

Akaashi trailed a finger over the tip of Bokuto’s ear, caressing down to his neck. He brushed his touch light, a feather trail against the warm skin beneath him. Bokuto opened his mouth, perhaps to answer, but shivered instead. Akaashi shifted his weight down, trying to be educational, even when his head flew into a haze. His thumb ghosted over Bokuto’s slack mouth, pretending like he hadn’t spent nights in a sleeping bag, playback of old volleyball games lighting up his cell phone, while staring at Bokuto’s snoring face. He kissed the side of Bokuto’s mouth first, then kissed him again, more fully, rewarded with an impulsive return. He shoved down the thrill when Bokuto’s warm hands grabbed onto his waist, holding him steady.

“Feels good,” Bokuto mumbled. Akaashi was pressed down over him, close enough to feel the rumble of Bokuto’s chest against his own. The slide of skin against skin felt uncomplicated, warm beneath him.

“Different people have different places where they feel good,” Akaashi said, speaking like he was just jotting another factoid down in his clipboard. He drew his hand across Bokuto’s broad chest, and Bokuto watched with a flushed, curious complexion. 

Bokuto had such a simple face, radiating with a persistent brightness. He wrinkled his nose when Akaashi first rubbed the nub of the nipple against his hand, muscles tensing and solidifying. Akaashi persisted, rolling over the side with the pad of his thumb. Audacious, even for him, he slipped Bokuto’s other nipple into his mouth. The drive to explore Bokuto’s body crashed over him in waves of yearning. He sucked hard at first, nipping light with his teeth. Bokuto tasted like skin, smelled like faint sweat from playing volleyball and like pines from the park where they had played. He flicked his tongue, teased by dragging his nail over the nub. Careful, he rubbed his thigh against Bokuto’s crotch, not ready to expose yet that he was already aroused from touching him. 

“Akaashi,” Bokuto growled. Akaashi halted, glancing up. Bokuto’s face crumpled with effort, his eyes squinting at him vaguely, hair dishevelling and falling in strands across his forehead. He looked like he was coming undone and Akaashi’s hips twitched against his bed. Bokuto had such simple and clean muscles, solid enough that when he raised himself into a half-seated position, it felt like something momentous was moving beneath Akaashi.

“Too fast?” Akaashi asked. He pressed his lips into a strict line, his face a placid mask. Bokuto rustled his hair, frowning.

“No,” Bokuto finally said. “Not fast enough. Touch me already, Akaashi.”

“It’s better to have patience, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi said, but his hands snapped to pull down Bokuto’s waistband. There had been a definite bulge. Now Bokuto’s semi-erection had been released, a nice firm cock with a definite flush. It had sprung to attention, not at full mast, but with strength to its line. 

“I’ve waited for almost five seconds, that’s patient enough,” Bokuto said. He rolled his head, in the same way Akaashi might have seen him stretching across the room. “It feels good to me, but does it feel good to you?”

The answer to the question would be obvious enough if Bokuto caught a glimpse of how hard Akaashi had become, his cock pulling so high to his stomach that the towel had slipped to the floor. So instead, Akaashi tentatively touched the base of Bokuto’s cock. Good and firm, thick nestled in the palm of his hand. Bokuto didn’t react, only stared at him with heavy eyes. Akaashi fisted around his cock and took to his work, gripping and thrusting with both hands. 

“Is this the first time someone’s touched you like this?” Akaashi asked, casual in the roll of his shoulders.

“Yeah. ‘s weird. Not bad weird.” The way Bokuto had splayed his hands behind him created a sharp angle at his clavicle. His eyelids fluttered half-closed, indulgent in the touches. “You’re doing real good, Akaashi. Feels good.”

“Thank you for that belated compliment, Bokuto-san.” 

“Hey." But Bokuto’s argument faded into a hitched breath, eyebrows arching in surprise when Akaashi slid his thumb over the frenulum and across the head. Akaashi slid his hands up and down again, twisting his fingers. It felt warm and thick beneath his hands, an occasional hard throb pulsing beneath his fingertips when he swiped across the slit. He breathed easier when he recognized Bokuto was erect, that he wasn’t the only one feeling the warm glow in his stomach. But he wouldn’t rest on his laurels. He was still yet hungrier. 

“Would you like to put your dick inside me, Bokuto-san?” Akaashi asked, acting like the thought had only occurred to him. Bokuto had leaned back, panting harder against the backboard of the bed. More gray hair flopped over his eyes. 

“Inside you how?” Bokuto, as always, retained a vivid curiosity. No disgust. Akaashi tried not to hope for the best. 

“Inside my ass.” No point in trying to play coy. 

“Whoa, you can do that?” Bokuto blinked, swiping the hair from his face. “Cool.”

“Yes.” Akaashi crawled over Bokuto for his dresser. He wouldn’t call himself a worrier, but he supposed preoccupation with thoughts had become an occupation. When the blocking and receiving failed to wear him out, he might, on occasion, resort to inserting toys into himself. Sometimes he’d thrust the plastic toy with brutal speed, biting into his pillow to muffle his cries, and other times he would tease himself into exhausting his load. Fortunately, Bokuto didn’t comment on the appearance of an unremarkable opaque bottle from Akaashi’s drawer.

“Will you feel good too?” Bokuto asked.

“I hope so.”

“Will it hurt?” 

“I’ll stretch myself now. I’m used to it. There’s no need to question that, trust me, I’m your setter.” The last part was added as a hasty afterthought to dissuade Bokuto from asking more about how Akaashi had gotten used to shoving fingers up his ass. Other than stress relief, he did have another reason. Over the course of months, to his horror, he found his thoughts of Bokuto had turned from worry and annoyance into lust, affection, and even worse, friendship. With the thick plastic toy inside him, he would imagine Bokuto pounding him into his bed. 

“Setters are amazing, huh,” Bokuto said, and Akaashi feared he had planted a deep misrepresentation into Bokuto’s mind. “Hey, can I try stretching you? I’m starting to feel left out.”

“As long as a certain someone is gentle about it.”

“Why are you calling me a certain someone when there’s only two of us here!” 

Akaashi could ask the same thing about how Bokuto could be feeling left out when they were the only two people inside the house. Instead, he uncapped the bottle and poured a liberal amount of the clear lubricant over Bokuto’s hands. The sticky liquid had a faint scent, but nothing irritating. He cupped Bokuto’s hands together to warm them, and felt this small act of embracing Bokuto was far too revealing.

“One at a time,” he finally told Bokuto. “Carefully.” When he felt the first tentative finger enter him, he shivered. The sensation of something so strange inside him shook him. His thighs quivered from the probing finger and he found himself leaning against Bokuto. If Bokuto had any qualms of Akaashi rutting against him with his leaking dick, he did not display that in his arched eyebrows. 

“You’re being real brave, Akaashi.” 

“I could say the same to you. You don’t seem nervous, considering this is your first time.” Of course, trying to apply reason to Bokuto had the same results as lecturing a flying bird. Bokuto might get nervous about getting out in time to buy the last bread from the cafeteria, but he’d deliver his interviews on television with a steely glint in his eyes. Akaashi found himself drawn to Bokuto’s simple dedication, the long hours of practice into the night and the looping reels of television footage in the day. Over time, he had begun to welcome how Bokuto would sometimes grab and shake him in joy. Akaashi had only become greedier. 

“I’m not feeling nervous.” Bokuto had been concentrating with his tongue sticking out, but he returned his sharp gaze to Akaashi’s face. “Maybe because I’m with you.”

“I’m glad you have faith in me.” Akaashi grunted as Bokuto’s finger had become buried into his joint. “You can put another finger inside. Move them in and out.”

“It’s more than faith, Akaashi.” Two fingers, slick and dripping, entered into him. “Hey, tell me what makes you feel good.” 

Being touched by Bokuto, with this clumsy gentleness, made him feel good. The faint hope that the next day would bring Bokuto smiling the same way upon him, watching Bokuto practice his inner spikes and straights, setting the ball across the court to him, this all made him feel good. Finishing the roster for the club and feeling Bokuto’s head on his shoulder, nodded off from the late night, inspired something in him. But Akaashi bit his lip and buried his forehead against Bokuto’s shoulder. The lube dripped between his thighs, leaving the familiar sticky mess. 

“Do you mean when I masturbate,” Akaashi finally said. 

“Sure.” Bokuto’s fingers pumped in an excruciating slow beat. The old burn of being stretched was being overwhelmed by the emanating warmth of Bokuto’s chest. 

“I touch my dick. Sometimes I touch my nipples, but I mostly put my fingers in my ass.” Akaashi’s breath hitched when Bokuto slid his palm up the curve of his ass, giving a slight squeeze. Akaashi tried not to allow any whines to escape, but Bokuto turned his head and kissed him. The heat engulfed him, the way Bokuto explored with his tongue, careful at first, then rough and curious. Akaashi sucked hard on his tongue and pretended the needy groans had been called from somewhere else. Bokuto’s rough hands mapped upward on his body, trailing against his ribs and abs, caressing the sharp strength of his hip, nestling over his hard thigh, all while his fingers explored the softer parts inside of him.

“I’ll put it inside me now,” Akaashi said, because his cool mask would shatter if he had to beg. “I’ll teach you.”

“Oh. Okay.” Bokuto, by then, had an awed undertone to his sloppy look. He held a firm grip on Akaashi’s hips, but his fingertips had a lighter contact than his palms. The muscles on his arms had been pulled taut, ready at any word. His eyes flickered over Akaashi, keen and tense.

Akaashi lowered himself on Bokuto’s lap. He pressed his hand to steady the tip of Bokuto’s cock and muffled a cry when he felt the thick penetration. Bokuto’s eyes had widened, his breaths drawing close and short, likely the first time he’d watched his cock sink into anything. Akaashi had hoped to pull himself down in one solid thrust, but he’d underestimated the effort. His thighs shook and his hands clenched tight against Bokuto’s shoulders, so he rested a moment.

“Is everything okay?” Bokuto’s thumb curved along his side, like he was delicate.

“It’s fine. Just bigger than I thought.” Akaashi snapped his head up. An inflated Bokuto ego would do nobody any good. But Bokuto only nodded, eyes fixated on where they connected. 

He moved slow, but steadily, until his thighs could rest against Bokuto’s hips. Akaashi closed his eyes to take in the pleasant burn and the unexpected fullness. A definite throb pressed into him and he felt filled, satiated from a long-burning hunger. When he opened his eyes, Bokuto was staring down with his mouth parted, a slight swelling from where he must have bitten down. His pupils had been dilated and Akaashi had never seen such an unguarded amazement. His jaw was slack and a deep blush covered his cheeks and ears. The sweat glistened from his neck and clavicle. Akaashi’s heart was filling with something, too, in the face of such open vulnerability.

“Bokuto-san,” he murmured. Bokuto’s gaze roved up to him and his eyes held such youth. His maturity mingled with his simple charm, and that this was new to him burned something fierce and protective inside of Akaashi’s heart. 

“Can all setters do this?” Bokuto whispered, awed.

“I’m going to start moving now.” The mattress bent under the weight of Akaashi’s knees as he raised himself up. It was a strange, tight sensation, but not unpleasant. He buried himself back down and choked down a satisfied grunt. A growing thrill rose from inside him. With some effort, he snapped his hips up and down again, moving with stuttered grace until he found a better rhythm and better stability from where he could lay his hands flat against Bokuto’s shoulders without crushing his fingers against the backboard. He hadn’t realized the force of his efforts would send his bed clattering against the wall. Bokuto’s hands still clumsily tried to wrap around his waist, uncertain of grip and placement. Akaashi rode him painfully slow, though not out of a teasing sentiment. He tried to adjust his weight across his knees, certain he could find a more comfortable resting spot, when he found himself bowled over and pressed against the bed.

“I want to do it, Akaashi,” Bokuto said, pushed tight against him. Akaashi caught his breath and rested his hands on Bokuto’s back.

“All right,” he said indulgently, as if he hadn’t been having technical difficulties a moment earlier. “Go slow, and then faster. I’d like it if you went deep. If you show me what makes you feel good, I’ll do my best to encourage that.” 

“Hey,” Bokuto said, grinning. “Nice receive.”

“Ah. I’ve gone soft.”

“Akaashi, don’t say that!” 

Bokuto was a fast learner. His awkward pumps became outpaced by the sheen of need in his eyes. Akaashi tensed when he felt the cock pull and push inside him, but he relaxed into his bed and enjoyed the sight of Bokuto concentrating above him, nose wrinkled and eyebrows tilted together. Bokuto was rougher than he expected, but he received a surprising thrill from the way Bokuto would thrust into him. The sight of Bokuto’s arms beside him, the sturdy pectorals hard at work, made him feel like he was receiving a fraction of Bokuto’s power. The attempts of constraint juxtaposed against the powerful waves of lust almost took his breath away. Akaashi didn’t bother to be quiet anymore, not that he ever grew too loud. He dug his fingers into Bokuto’s back at the roll of the hips. He moaned, throaty and quiet, the blankets rucking up around him. Bokuto sometimes grunted above him, louder and more striking. The warmth that wrapped around him, the slick skin beneath his nails, the way Bokuto slammed into him, filling him up inside, Akaashi was gasping and clawing at him. Bokuto was thrusting faster, short and quick, and Akaashi rutted his hips against him in a frenetic wanton rush and squeezed at the torturous slide inside him and the slickness dripping deeper down his thighs and he clenched down over the friction and gripped him tight when he came in a flood of release, jerking until he fell still and panting against his bed.

His head felt light. He ran his fingers over Bokuto’s forearm as the pulses ebbed into lighter warmth.

“I came inside you, Akaashi,” Bokuto was saying with a lilt of worry. “Is that okay?”

“It’s fine. I’ll clean myself up.” Though his legs had too much wobble for him to actually stand up, so he laid in his bed and felt the slow drip between his thighs.

“That was cool,” Bokuto said, flopping down beside him. 

“Yes,” Akaashi said, still faint from the overwhelming sensation. “But if you’re having sex with another person, there are more things to consider. Condoms, for example. It’s better to have protection for a variety of reasons. It’s important to maintain good health.”

“Okay,” Bokuto said. “But what if I only wanted to have sex with you?” 

“Because I’m your friend?” 

“Yeah.” 

Akaashi finally twisted his head to look at Bokuto’s silhouetted features. “You have other friends.”

“I do, and I like them a lot. But I only want to have sex with you.” 

“Do as you like,” Akaashi said, trying not to look happy. He’d been weakened, though, and a corner of his mouth lifted. Fortunately, Bokuto was still staring at the ceiling and missed out on what Akaashi could only assume would have looked like a pathetic struggle across his face.

“Was it fun for you, Akaashi?”

“Yes. If, for example, the base definition of fun would be to abate boredom, it has definitively fulfilled the role. In this case as well, I did enjoy myself during the process, as well as the before and after.” Akaashi rested his hands across his stomach. “But that’s not the only reason people have sex. Before engaging in the act, one must consider the implications. Beyond intimacy, sex has played its role for numerous purposes and it might be wiser to consider why a person may approach the question of intention in a variety of different manners.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you overthink things, Akaashi.”

Three times since last week. “No.”

“Well, if you’re talking about purpose, then it’s not just to have fun.” Bokuto grinned, a sudden cheer stretched across his face. “I can’t think up anybody better to have that first time than with you.”

“Is it because you expected me to take notes on the progress?”

“What? Did you?”

“No.” 

“It’s nice to share something like this with you. That’s all.” Bokuto laughed. “Like, one more toss. One more set. One more match. One more game, one more tournament.” 

Sometimes it was impossible to gauge Bokuto’s maturity. Though Bokuto had said this so innocently, Akaashi’s heart hurt deeper with every light-hearted word. Perhaps Bokuto did have the self-awareness of the indulgences of his friends, and cherished the support of his teammates more than they could know. In their sweaty practices, mischievous shenanigans, and warm dinner meals, they had forged a deep bond that was created from moment to moment, building into something bigger, but remaining small to the visible eye. Akaashi, in many ways, was used to the sight of Bokuto’s broad back. He relied on that cheerfulness. Even as Bokuto stared ahead at the future, filled with volleyball, Akaashi was also asking for one more time. 

“Let’s do this more in the future,” Akaashi said. No matter what. 

“Yeah. I’d like that.” Bokuto peered at him. “You got so many wrinkles on your forehead, Akaashi. If you’re always worried about that, you won’t make it until you’re 131.” 

“Living until I’m 131 years old is implausible.” Akaashi paused. “And why 131?”

“Because I’m gonna live until I’m 130 and I’d be sad without you.” 

“Then I’d rather live until I’m 130, too.”

“When you say it like that, Akaashi, that sounds like a confession.” At Akaashi’s silence, Bokuto careened his head to peek at him. “Hey, was that a confession, Akaashi? Are you saying you like me? Hey, your face is all red! Is this the first time you’ve ever confessed? Are you a confession virgin? You never told anyone you like them before? Was your first time to the super coolest ace in the whole world? I like you too, Akaashi! Come on, Akaashi, it’s not so bad! I won’t tell anyone you like me, except everyone on our team, and the coach, teachers, parents, friends. Let’s get married on a volleyball court! Why are you hiding your face in your hands, Akaashi? Akaashi? Anyway, I have some potential names for our children, you can say no if you want, but I’m still naming them this. Now, I’m gonna start with Vabo-chan...”


End file.
